


rose colored glasses

by kritiquer



Category: SKAM (France), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, mainly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kritiquer/pseuds/kritiquer
Summary: In which Daphne moves to Antwerp on a whim, and falls for the girl she meets on the train ride there.
Relationships: Daphné Lecomte/Noor Bauwens
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	rose colored glasses

It was a wild, spontaneous choice. Absolutely nothing like Daphné at all, who was used to spending hours on meticulous planning, filling notebooks to the brim with neatly filled in squares and highlighted events. 

No, this wasn’t like Daphné at all, and it felt exhilarating. As if someone had pushed her into a cold stream of water and the shock had snapped her back to life, not to Daphné 2.0 but to  _ Daphné _ , the one she was as a kid but left behind somewhere along the way. 

The idea had come to her through an advertisement, a kitschy thing that had roped her in with promises of ‘getting a break from the boredom of everyday life’ and prompting her to ‘live a little! Travel!’ She’d ignored it at first, but it had reached into her mind and had started to settle down; it was a constant thought rattling her brain.  _ Come to Antwerp,  _ the ad had cooed,  _ reduced tickets this month only!  _

And in the grand scheme of things, what did she have to lose? It’d only be for a couple of months at most, and getting away from the constant buzzing in her head here in Paris was surely what she needed. 

When she’d finally told the girls, Imane had sent her a rare smile, and brought up points Daphné herself hadn’t even considered when the other girls started protesting. They all thought it wasn’t safe, that they weren’t sure if Daphné would like it at all, and for a brief moment Daphné understood. They just wanted to protect her, keep her safe because they thought they knew what she wanted. But no, Daphné had finally found herself, at least a little bit, and she wanted this more than any of them could believe. 

***

The train to Antwerp is almost exactly two hours and 14 minutes long, and Daphné can feel her nerves stretch and snap, can feel the cold window warming against her cheek as she waits for it to take off. 

Across from her, a toddler bounces happily on his mother’s lap, his eyes full of wonder at a world so mundane and trite to Daphné herself; his mother kisses his head gingerly and meets Daphné’s eyes, sending her a soft smile. A girl rests her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder as they share earbuds and link hands. And it’s just so lovely, isn’t it? 

Daphné knows she wouldn’t have appreciated this scene two months ago, that she’d probably be too busy writing frantic notes down in her planner. Truth be told, she doesn’t really know what it was that opened her up, but she couldn’t be more grateful. 

Because there’s love everywhere, isn’t there? It’s in the way all the girls dropped her off at the train station and the way Eliott sent her a dozen texts then finally ended up calling her, convincing her that she was doing the right thing. It was in the way—

“Oh, shit,” a girl stumbles down into the seat next to her, brushing her hair out of her face and sighing heavily. “This  _ is _ the train back to Antwerp, isn’t it? You’d think I’d know by now, but nope.” 

The girl’s cut off Daphné’s long tirade of thoughts, and she’s awfully thankful for it. She’d started to become a touch too sappy, too engrossed. She can’t help but stare as the girl adjusts her bags beneath her seat, her arm brushing Daphné’s as she does so. It takes her a minute (or maybe two) to register that she’d spoken to her, too distracted by the slope of the girl’s nose and the slight curl to her shiny dark hair. She’s wearing a red lipstick that reminds her painfully of Manon, and her eyes are twinkling with amusement. She’s stunning, really, and Daphné knows she’s still staring but it’s as if the girl’s a magnet and Daphné’s caught in her force, unable to look away. 

“So, is it?” she reiterates, and Daphné blinks, clears her throat. 

_ Had she been talking this entire time?  _

“Is it what?” 

The girl chuckles, and it’s positively unfair that her chuckle is melodic, too. As if the universe was taunting her by giving the girl a soft voice and a shatteringly sweet laugh. The girl repeats her question, and this time Daphné pays attention: a feat remarkable enough on its own, and strings together three words without too much difficulty. 

“Yeah, it is.”

“Thank god for that,” the girl grins, and Daphné knows her face is getting warm.

“You’re not from Paris, right?” 

It’s the accent, a dead giveaway, but even then it comes off more as an accusation. The girl laughs though, then nods.

“From Antwerp, actually!” The train starts to move, and the girl adjusts her bag before turning back to Daphné. “I’m Noor.”

***

Noor’s fucking brilliant. No, not just brilliant. Dazzling, show-stopping, ethereal, and—shit.  _ Shit _ , she was supposed to be friends with Noor, roommates because as luck would have it Noor was in need of one. Meeting Noor in the train had been a sign that moving to Antwerp was a good idea, knowing they’d be roommates had been a slippery affirmation she couldn’t resist. Either way, anything but  _ this,  _ a knotted string of feelings swirling around in Daphné’s chest. 

She and Noor had become fast friends, and Noor had helped her get settled in without a single complaint, not even when Daphné’s boxes took up more space than she’d anticipated. They did movie nights now, every Saturday after Daphné got off her evening shift. She missed her friends back in Paris desperately, but it was different with Noor. And Daphné didn’t dare let herself dwell on why for too long. She didn’t have time for falling in love; for chasing after life in rose colored glasses. 

*** 

“Daphy,” Noor calls, waving her over. Noor’s set up an easel in the corner of the living room, and had been strictly secretive about her painting. She’s beckoning her over now though, and Daphné claps, elated. She jumps off the couch and walks over to Noor, watching her unveil the painting. 

“What do you think?” 

It’s a painting of the two of them, taken from above as they sit at a café. It’s absolutely beautiful, the brush strokes delicate and the colors vibrant. 

She’s painted them at their usual table, clustered with coffees and plates dusted with the sugary remnants of pastries. There’s a few of those as well, familiar strawberry tarts and Noor’s favorite peach puffs. 

Daphné’s heart aches, then, with longing and an overwhelming sense of fondness. The Daphné in the painting is radiant, her hair illuminated by sunshine and a soft smile gracing her face. Noor in contrast is painted with less detail, but there’s a clear connection between the two of them, and Daphné stutters with emotion. _Is this how Noor sees them?_ Noor’s painted her before but never like this, never in a scene so personal, down to Noor reaching over for a bite of Daphné’s cake. She knows she might be taking too long to respond, enough to evoke panic in Noor, but she can’t help it. The painting’s knocked her heart off its rhythm, and she fears speaking a single word without it dripping of _I love it I love it and I think I might love you too and this painting is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and is this what it feels like to be loved?_

“Oh, Noor,” she breathes finally, unable to look away from the masterpiece in front of her, “it’s perfect.” 

And maybe, in another universe, she takes her eyes off the painting and looks at Noor looking at her instead, as she had since the day they’d met in the train, all those months ago. But instead, she asks if Noor wants to go to the café, and Noor says yes, because of course she does. She can’t help it, can she? 

***

“Do you ever,” Noor pauses, running her fingertip across the table, “wear jewelry just because it reminds you of someone? Maybe they gave it to you, or maybe they left it behind. And either way, it’s too comforting to not do it.” 

Her voice strains towards the end, and Daphné can tell what she means entirely, can sense the minute panic.  _ You think I’m weird, don’t you? A creep?  _

And Daphné wants to say, no, I understand, I wear a gold chain of yours every day, the one with a tiny rose at the bottom, the one you wore the time I moved in and you laughed pleasantly when you saw the roses stitched onto my sweater. the one you twirled between your fingers and it caught the light just so—making you smile your special smile, the one that made angels sing and my heart stutter in my chest. She touches the chain now on instinct, and Noor’s eyes catch the movement. 

So maybe it’s the universe’s powers, as Eliott and Lucas say fondly, or love, or pure, unfiltered luck, but Noor smiles that special smile again, her eyes warming as she reaches for Daphné’s hand. 

“So do I.”

***

They still do movie nights every Saturday, but now they’re movie dates, and they’re filled with soft kisses and Noor’s hair tickling her chin when she leans against Daphné’s shoulder, tangling their hands together underneath their blanket. And, looking at her girlfriend through her rose-colored glasses that she’d come to love, Daphné can barely believe what her life has become. As if the universe had finally answered her yearning wishes and sent her a girl made of sunshine and rose-scented perfume, of gentle laughter and kind words. She remembers with a start the conversation they’d had a couple weeks ago, when Noor had asked how long Daphné was going to stay. She didn’t have an answer then, but now, in the dim light of their living room, with Noor cuddled up against her side, she knows it.  _ As long as you’ll have me,  _ she tells her, and she can feel Noor’s smile against her collarbone before she sees it, laughing as she engulfs her in an embrace and they fall to the ground, tangled up in their blankets. She realizes distantly that there’s more work to be done, schools to be transferred and papers to be signed, but as she sees the pure joy radiating from Noor, she knows it’s  _ worth it, worth it, worth it.  _

***

She doesn’t dare call it love, not quite yet, but as Noor winks at her from where she peeks out from behind her easel, Daphné thinks maybe it is after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm kritiquer on tumblr, come say hi!


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